


Positive Feedback (i know biology and this isn’t it)

by kuro49



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Gen, Mind Meld, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal doesn’t lie to Peter, only because he is already in his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Positive Feedback (i know biology and this isn’t it)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ftmsteverogers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftmsteverogers/gifts).



> Who wanted a Neal and Peter mind meld story. <3 (Feel free to ask any and all questions, I apologize ahead of time for my personal lack of patience to world build.)
> 
>  
> 
> [ Positive feedback](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Positive_feedback): a process in which the effects of a small disturbance on a system include an increase in the magnitude of the perturbation. That is, _A produces more of B, which in turn produces more of A_.

 

It is not the sound of his shoes echoing inside the empty apartment that gives him away. It is the brush of his mind against his own. And Neal doesn’t have a word for it, finally rendered speechless for once, tongue-tied, but he feels it for the first time when he meets Agent Peter Burke again.

“Are you carrying?” The man asks, stern, and Neal can’t tell if he really can’t sense it, something all consuming that makes it hard to think, or if he might actually be a better conman than Neal is.

But no one is better than Neal Caffrey. So he stands up, both hands turned up in mock innocence, his smile a single curve that gives nothing away. “You know I don’t like guns.”

“I know,” and that confirms it, it is the smallest flicker. It is nothing physical like a tell, it is a quiet admission in their heads when Peter gives him a half smile that is more telling than he thinks, “it’s FBI protocol.”

Peter cuffs him once more, his hands careful to grab at his sleeves and the silver edge of the restraints. Neal can run, of course he can, but he doesn’t. And if Neal’s smile looks a whole lot like triumph, well, no one knows what to say to that.

 

He doesn’t lie to him.

But only because he is already in his head.

 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Agent Burke?”

Neal is sitting there, hands clasped in front of his chest, smile a wane thing over his lips. He looks bruised around his eyes, like he has spent too many nights thinking over the same damn thing. But still, he smiles when Peter takes a seat opposite to him.

“You know why I’m here, Neal.”

“You want the Dutchman.”

They are close, close enough to touch, but they don’t.

“I do.”

“Then why haven’t you taken it out of my head?” He leans forward, blue eyes unreadable. And even so close, Peter only knows that he is thinking about everything and anything just so he can’t pinpoint that single thing he wants. Neal holds out a palm in the space between them, an invitation and a dare all in one. “You know you can.”

“I’m not going to take advantage of you, Neal.”

“Don’t think I’ll be so honourable in return, Peter.”

Neal is a thief, he has always been quick, and this is no different. Before Peter can pull back, and out of his reach, Neal has already grasped his hands in his. The shock is not lightning when they touch, neither is it a spread of hot, white warmth when their minds collide. It is a train wreck of thoughts spilling over, flashes of memories, nothing substantial (nothing that will hold up in court at the very least) and splashes of what might be wishes or baseless fears.

It is a quiet thing that makes Neal’s sharp intake of breath sound like a scream in a room of silence. Peter’s grip tightens into a vice at the wide kaleidoscope that is Caffrey’s head opening up to him.

“Agent Burke,” Neal says, breathless, their eyes locking as he states, “you want me to help you.”

“…And I thought there was honour among thieves.” Peter says when he can finally push back the thoughts that aren’t his own, and he may be trying to lighten the situation but how can you not. Neal grins, and it lights up the room, brighter than the orange jumpsuit he has on.

“Like you said so yourself, Peter, the honour’s among us, thieves.” He leans back slightly, but only ever so slightly because their minds are still connected and he doesn’t want to pull away even if he could. “You’re hardly one.”

Peter laughs, a distraction for them both when he finally lets go.

“Goes to show how much you don’t know about me, Caffrey.”

Neal doesn’t reach out, not again, not even as his entire mind is screaming for the touch, the brush of mind to mind. Thoughts against ones that aren’t his own.

“We can change that, Peter.”

“Oh, I’m sure we will.”

 

Neal is spontaneous.

But only because a premeditative crime spree would have him arrested so much faster. So he plans, and he thinks, and he remembers until he can’t tell one thought from the other, until he doesn’t know which is a thought and which is a memory.

Until he doesn’t know his own head.

And only then does he break a law.

 

The cigar burns between his fingers, red at the tip, the smell filling up their noses in the small glass office.

Neal grins at the sight of his handler, the beige jacket that fits all wrong over his shoulders and the ugly suit he has on underneath. Neal grins, and he grins until the cigar burns halfway and the adrenaline has died down to a more manageable level. It is only then that he smiles and pats at the empty space next to him.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to. Not since that moment when he has still been in orange and Peter has still been _Agent Burke_ sitting across from him with an offer on his mind.

“Neat trick.” Peter says when he sits down beside Neal. The anklet still blinking red where his pants have hiked up. Neal can’t see the expression on his face but he does feel the warmth all along one side of his body where Peter presses close enough to touch. Neal swings his legs, Peter watches the momentum for another moment. And it is soft when he adds, “don’t do it ever again.”

Neal breathes out, the smoke hiding his face before it dissipates around him. The smell pungent, and it fills their heads up. His lips curl as he glances to the printing presses around them. “You don’t want another win like this?”

Peter tells him. “I don’t want to find you dead the next time I chase you down.”

Neal doesn’t close that short miniscule distance between them. Instead, the conman hops off of the desk, the length of his pants sliding back down to hide the tracking anklet.

“Fair enough.”

He turns away, smiles, and feels the returning strum of contentment from Peter in his head.

XXX Kuro


End file.
